


A Circle in Disrepair.

by AkiRah



Series: Hold The Sky [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abominations are bullshit, Carroll is a git, Gen, Greagoir/Irving if you squint, Nothing good comes of blood magic in DAO, The Circle of Magi, brief mentions of Surana/Cullen, implied beginning of Alistair/Surana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Party travels to Ferelden's Circle of Magi, the first stop on their quest to gain aid against the Blight. They arrive to find Surana's old home in disrepair and the templars clamoring for the right of annulment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Road Home Of Moderate Length

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They reach the docks of Lake Calenhad and Surana is annoyed by Carroll

Sten’s complaints that this was not _first thing_ were stifled over a dull breakfast of toast and butter while Surana poured over the treaties and tried to decide where they should go first. She chewed on her lower lip and finally looked up. “I think we should visit the Circle of Magi first.” 

Sten made a _face_ less pleased even than Morrigan’s, who pursed her lips in visible irritation at the mere _mention_ of the Circle of Magi. 

Surana rolled the treaties back up and tucked them into their thin scroll case. “I know the First Enchanter and if things are as bad in Redcliffe as Ser Donall said we’ll want as much magic as possible at our disposal.” 

Sten’s expression darkened. Surana pretended not to notice but made a note to talk to him about it _later_. 

“Let’s pull up camp and get moving. It’s . . . about two days to the Tower, I think, if we don’t dally too long. I can talk to Bodhan about carrying most of the camp in his cart, I think he’ll charge us re--”

“Five silver a day,” Bodhan offered. 

“Done.” She fished the coin from her pouch. “Let’s move out.”

* * *

It was almost noon on the first day of their walk to the Tower and the party was in the process of feeling one another out. Alistair and Morrigan were, unsurprisingly, content in their mutual and intense dislike. 

Sten was quiet, walking near the front of what no one in their right mind could had called a formation, his eyes straight ahead on the dusty road. 

Stanton fritted about, here and there, sometimes beside Surana, other times harassing Morrigan or trotting beside Sten.

They stopped for lunch in the shade of some trees and Sten only asked that they keep the pause short. 

“Alistair?” Leliana asked as they started walking again. “Eating reminded me. What was that . . . soup . . . you made for supper last night?”

“Are we truly calling it soup?” Morrigan purred. “My, but you have a honeyed tongue.” 

“It was a traditional lamb and pea stew.” Alistair ignored Morrigan with a vengeance. “Did you like it?” 

“Oh . . . so . . .it was lamb then?” 

Surana snorted a laugh and almost tripped. 

“It had a certain . . . texture I don’t usually associate with lamb.” Leliana hedged, clearly trying to be polite. 

Surana hadn’t noticed anything amiss with the stew, but the conversation was amusing enough. 

“A texture more associated with boot leather?” Morrigan commented. 

Alistair glared at her and turned his attention back to Leliana. “They didn’t make lamb and pea stew for you in Lothering?” 

“We ate simply there. Whole grains, made into biscuits or bread, and vegetables from the garden, cooked lightly. No heavy stews.”

“Ah. So the last lamb you had was probably cooked Orlesian style. Food shouldn’t be all frilly and pretentious like that.” 

Surana snorted again. 

“Now, here in Ferelden, we do things right. We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest port we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing _that’s_ when I know it’s done.” 

“You . . . you’re having me on.” Leliana sounded shocked. 

Alistair laughed in reply. “You need to eat in more Fereldan inns.” 

“Oh nonsense,” Surana chipped in. “What we had last night was _miles_ better than the stew at the Spoiled Princess.” 

“And suddenly I am vegetarian.” Morrigan stuck her tongue out in disgust.

* * *

_Leliana_ made dinner that night. A small, light soup. It very very tasty, but unlike Alistair’s stew didn’t stick to the ribs and Surana had the feeling she’d be hungry again before long. Still, it was better tasting, and that was something at least. 

Morrigan went off on her own in short order, having had enough of the chatter that Leliana and Alistair filled the air with. In time, Sten left them as well, though unlike Morrigan, he didn’t complain when Stanton trotted after him. Leliana headed to bed, her watch in the middle of the night and wanting enough sleep on either side of it and Alistair, who had first watch and Surana, who couldn’t sleep, were left to themselves. 

“So, Alistair.” Surana set her bowl aside, “how did you become a Grey Warden?” 

“Same way you did,” Alistair smirked. “You drink some blood, you choke on it and pass out. You haven’t forgotten already, have you?” 

“Ha. Ha.” Surana rolled her eyes and reached up to undo her braid. “Hysterical.” 

“What can I say, I try.” He grinned. “Let’s see,” he tipped his head back to look at the sky, watching for clouds or a hint of rain maybe. “I was in the the Chantry before. I trained for many years to become a templar, in fact, that’s where I learned most of my skills.” 

“You mentioned.” Surana nodded. “I gotta say though, you don’t really seem the templar-y sort.” 

“You’re telling me,” Alistair snorted. “I was banished to the kitchen to scour pots more times than I can count. And that’s a lot; I can count pretty high.” He shook his head and looked back at her, the firelight illuminating his profile in a striking way. It reminded her of old paintings of dead kings. “The Grand Cleric didn’t want to let me go. Duncan was forced to conscript me, actually and was she was furious when he did.” Alistair’s mouth curved up at the memory. “I thought she was going to have us both arrested. I was lucky.”

“Didn’t want to give up her best scullery boy?” Surana teased. “Impressive.” 

“I think she just didn’t want to give anything to the Grey Wardens is all. The Chantry didn’t lose much, and I think I can do more good fighting the Blight than sitting in a temple somewhere.” His smile dropped away and Surana reached out a hand towards him, thinking to brush his cheek and put it back, but she stopped and recoiled, thinking better of it. 

“I’ll always be thankful to Duncan for recruiting me. If it hadn’t been for him, you know, I would never . . . I wouldn’t have. . . “

“I’m sorry, Alistair.” Surana lowered her hand. “He was a good man.” 

“He died a hero.” Alistair closed his eyes, shoulders sagging. “They all did.” 

The conversation dulled there, and Surana helped herself to the last of Leliana’s stew before she stretched and decided that sleep would probably be best. Stanton had wandered back to her bedroll and curled up, the perfect heater. 

“I’m off to bed I think,” she said, turning to Alistair. He was still caught in the half-light from the fire, the shadows deepening the line of his jaw and catching like sunlight in his eyes. She yawned and turned away. 

“Mmm, Alistair?”

“Yes?” 

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

She heard him choke and sputter on his water and kept her face away from his as she crawled into her bedroll. “Not.. unless they were asking me for a favor. Other than a few women in Denerim but they were . . . not like you.” Alistair said, she looked over and he crossed his arms across his chest, obviously trying to cover for his sputter. “Why? Is this your way of saying you think I’m handsome?”

Surana shrugged and tugged the blanket up to her chin. Stanton harrumphed in dismay as the blanket moved under him and moved to curl around her feet. “And if it is? What then?”

“Nothing.” Alistair dropped his hands. “I just get to grin and look foolish for a while.”

“You do that. Goodnight.”

* * *

They reached Lake Calenhad near dusk of the second day. Surana stared up at the tower that had been her home for twelve long years and felt small in it’s shadow. The water rippled midnight black around the island she had lived on. 

“I don’t see the boat.” She said with a small frown. “But the ferryman’s usually having drinks at the Spoiled Princess when he’s not on the dock.” 

“This would be the place with the terrible stew?” Leliana asked. 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Surana tried to defend, “but . . . yes.” 

“"How very fitting that they would build a prison for mages in the middle of a lake and make it look like a giant phallus." Morrigan said with an idle sweep of her hand. 

“Humans, overcompensating as always.” 

Hearing _Morrigan_ compare the tower to a penis was one thing, but when Sten did it, the first thing he’d said in hours, Surana doubled over laughing. 

“Do you ever wonder why the mages built their tower at Lake Calenhad? Do they have an aversion to practicality or something?” 

“I don’t know, Alistair,” Leliana said, eyeing the building with wonder, unlike everyone else. “The view from the top must be spectacular.” 

Surana recomposed herself and headed for the Spoiled Princess. Sure enough, she found Kester inside and gave him a warm smile. “Hello Kester, why aren’t you manning your boat?” 

Kester stared mournfully down into his mug. “Templars took the boat.”

“Typical.” Morrigan scoffed under her breath. 

“What? Why?” Surana asked.

“Don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me.” Kester drained his drink and sighed. “Greagoir just came down and said “Don’t worry Kester, we’ve got it all under control we do,” and then he puts Carroll in charge of my boat. Lissie! Named for my grandmum she was.” 

“He put _Carroll_ wrong at the tower?” Surana clenched one hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. “I heard a rumor in Lothering but--”

“Don’t know. Didn’t tell me nothing like I said. If I know them Mages it’s got something to do with magic, but then, the tower’s always got something to do with _magic_.”

“I... “ Surana took a deep breath. “Thank you. I should get going.” 

She turned and stormed out of the inn towards the docks. 

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked. 

“Worried.” Surana admitted. “It was my home and Kester . . . We’ve had runaways, suicides, explosions, the works, Kester’s never been _removed_ from his boat. He’s run the ferry my whole life. Probably longer.” 

They reached the docks and she squared her shoulders and looked up at Carroll, lounging about until he noticed them, at which point he stood straight as a ramrod in case they were _important_. When he saw Surana, however, he relaxed. 

Carroll was not a _bad_ man. He was a git, but his bullying tended to stop at mockery. For a templar, that was actually almost endearing. 

“You’re not looking to get across to the tower, are you?” Carroll puffed himself up with self-importance. “Because I have strict orders not to let _anyone_ pass.” 

“It’s me, Carroll.” Surana huffed. “Neria Surana. I live . . lived here.”

Carroll crossed his arms and rolled his neck, unimpressed. 

“Carroll.” 

“Strict. Orders.” 

“I’m a _Grey Warden_ and I need to speak with First Enchanter Irving,” She tried. 

“Oh,” Carroll snorted. “You’re a Grey Warden, are you? Prove it.” 

“Prove it?” Surana repeated in disbelief. “Carroll, what are you--”

“Kill some darkspawn,” he mocked. “Let’s see some righteous Grey Wardening.” 

“ _Carroll_.”

“Well, nice chatting with you! Now, on your way. Right now. _Go_.” He made a shooing motion. 

“Carroll, Knight-Commander Greagoir is going to be _livid_ if you don’t let us talk to him.” 

“You think Greagoir would be upset with me for not letting _you_ in?” Carroll raised an eyebrow. “After what your fri--”

There was a frustrated sound from behind Surana and Sten moved her out of the way with one large hand. He produced a small bag of cookies. “There was a child--a fat slovenly thing--in the last village we passed. I relieved him of these confections. He did not need more.” 

Sten dropped the cookies into Carroll’s hand while the rest of the party stared at them both. 

“Greagoir _would_ maybe be annoyed at me for not letting you in.” Carroll took a bite of a cookie and spoke through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Yes.” Surana recovered from her shock and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s. . . avoid that. Shall we?” 

“Come along then, I suppose.” 

Surana settled next to Morrigan on the ferry and gave Sten a curious look. He ignored it. Finally, the tower getting closer, she asked, “so . . . you like . . . cookies?” 

Sten grunted. 

“Ah . . . okay.”


	2. Belay That Annulment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana, with her new companion Wynne in tow, begins to scale the tower in hopes of finding Irving.

Surana was not set more at ease by the chaos that had become the foyer of the Circle tower. Templars, rushed about, instead of standing in their usual positions or walking lazily through the room. She could smell blood, and lots of it. A makeshift infirmary was propped up in a corner. Instinctively she looked for blond curls, almost relieved when she didn’t see any.

It was almost a relief to hear Greagoir shouting. “...and I want two men stationed at the door at all times, no one gets out or in without my express permission is that clear?” 

“Yes ser!” The templar he was speaking to took off to deliver the orders and Greagoir turned to look at Surana as she walked towards him. 

“Greagoir, what’s going on here?” she hoped she sounded less panicked and desperate than she felt, but the high tenor of her voice as it bounced off the stone told her that it was a foolish hope. 

“I don’t have time to--” Greagoir cut himself off when he recognized her. “Look who’s back. A proper Grey Warden now, are you? Glad you’re not dead.” 

She doubted that, but there was time to worry about it later. “What’s going on? Why are the Great doors barred?” 

“I’ll speak plainly.” Greagoir folded his hands behind his back and turned to glare at the door that lead to the apprentice quarters. “The tower is no longer under our control.” 

“ _What?_ ” Surana took a step backwards.

“Abominations and demons stalk the tower’s halls. We were too complacent,” he turned to level his ire at _her_. “First Jowan and now this. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your role in Jowan’s escape.”

Surana swallowed hard as the murmured starts of questions from her companions started. “I was just--I didn’t--” She squeezed her staff and then leaned it against her shoulder while she reached up to pin her braid into a bun. “What can I do to help?” 

“I’ve sent word to Denerim.” Greagoir frowned, the expression natural, but darker than she’d ever seen it. “Calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment.”

“You . . . _what_.” Surana’s weight transferred from her heels to the balls of her feet. Panick gripped tight at her throat. “You can’t . . . You can’t just Annul the Circle! That’s insane!” 

“Most of the mages are already dead.” Alistair said from behind her. She spun, wounded, that he would say such a thing, her mouth open and her eyes pleading. “Any abominations must be dealt with.” 

“Alistair how--”

“The situation is dire.” 

Surana spun back around to face Greagoir as he spoke. “There is no alternative. Everything in the tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again.” 

“We’re not _defenseless_!” Surana insisted. “Some mages must still live!” 

“If any still live it is because the Maker Himself has shielded them.” Greagoir voice choked and Surana’s jaw fell open again. “No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find. . . nothing.” 

_Irving,_ Surana realized. _He’s worried about Irving_.

“ _I’ll_ look for survivors.” She forced her chin up and met the Knight-Commander’s eyes for the first time in her life.

“Neria.” Greagoir snapped. “An abomination is a force to be reckoned with and you will face more than one.” 

“I have to try.” She held her staff in both hands. “It’s the right thing to do.” 

“She’s right.” Alistair said. 

Greagoir scowled at him. “If you cross that threshold there is no turning back, Neria. The great doors must remain barred and I will not open them until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so.” 

Surana nodded. 

“If Irving. . .if Irving has fallen, then the Circle is lost and must be destroyed.” 

“I understand.”

“Maker guide you, whatever you decide.” Greagoir turned and marched away to issue more orders and Surana rocked unsteadily on her heels, feeling dizzy. 

Her home. Full of abominations and monsters. Everyone she knew, dead. 

“Neria?” Leliana put a hand on her back. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Surana assured everyone. “Sten, I . . . you’re uncomfortable with Mages, are you not?” 

Sten nodded affirmatively. 

“You stay here with the templars, if we don’t make it out, Greagoir will need all the help he can get. . .” she swallowed, “ _Annulling_ the circle.” 

Surana walked around the hall under the guise of contemplation and traded some goods with the Quartermaster, all the while keeping her eyes peeled for Cullen or for Rupert or for any friendly, familiar face. 

Nothing. 

Surana turned to look at the doors that lead to her childhood home and felt faint and very small. 

“Right.” 

“The mages are all locked within?” Morrigan asked. “A fitting end for those who gave up their _own_ freedom.” 

“Morrigan.” Surana growled. 

“As I recall, locking the door and throwing away the key was definitely templar plan B.” Alistair contributed. 

Surana swallowed and pushed the doors open. She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep a whimper from bubbling out of her mouth. The bodies of apprentices were scattered, bloody, in the hallway outside what had been her bedroom door. 

The doors slammed closed behind her with a thunderous finality. 

“We need to find Irving.” 

“Did you see your. . . friend?” Leliana asked quietly. Surana bent to inspect a body just in case, her free hand resting on Stanton’s neck. 

“No.” she said, “Not yet.”

* * *

The first thing she did, after seeing the destruction of the Apprentice quarters, was duck into the girl’s dormitory. She found her bed, all the beds had been pushed together, knocked over and the wood was charred from flame. 

Surana shook out her pillow case and collected the coin she and Jowan had carefully hidden for years, along with a handful of other trinkets. She rummaged through other drawers, remembering who hid what useful things where. Elfroot, other regents, runes nicked from the store, coins and small bits of shiny. 

Alistair’s hand settled lightly on her arm as she pulled a small statue out from under her mattress. She squeezed it in her hand. The Queen from the tower chess set, replaced after it had broken when Cullen sent the whole board flying as he dove to catch her the day she fell off the ladder. 

“Neria?” 

“Here.” She offered it to Alistair.

“Is that for me?” He took it and smiled at it like he’d never been given anything so nice. “Wow.” 

They continued through the hallway. Surana shouted. “Cullen? Irving? Rupert?” 

But the only reply was her own voice bouncing back at her and the sounds of their footsteps. 

Dread sank into her stomach. 

Alistair, taking point with his shield, pushed open the door to the first floor landing, where the stairs leading down to the basement waited. 

The door opened and Senior Enchanter Wynne, turned around, her expression dark, and staff ready. She straightened, honest confusion on her face when she saw Surana. 

“You? You’ve returned to the tower? Why did the templars let you through? Are you here to warn us?” 

“This was my home.” Surana swallowed. “I need to see what’s happened. Greagoir sent to Denerim for the Right of Annulment. If I can . . . if Irving tells him to call it off, he will. I’ve got to find Irving.” 

“I see.” Wynne’s frown deepened. “They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived.” Wynne shook her head and looked over at the apprentices, children and young adults alike, a profound sadness gracing her elderly features. “If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them.”

“Do you know if Irving’s alive?” 

“If anyone could survive this, Irving could. He told me to protect the children,” Wynne pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s a long story. I’ve erected a barrier so nothing could come through and harm the children, you will not be able to enter the rest of the tower so long as it holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save the--”

“Maker yes.” Surana interrupted, “but we need to _move_.” 

“You want us to assist this preachy school mistress?” Morrigan’s nostrils flared in irritation. “And these pathetic excuses for mages? They _allow_ themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. And not their masters have chosen death for them and I say let them have it.” 

“This was my _home_ , Morrigan.” Surana growled. “And you could have been one of us if things were different.” 

“I would be here had my mother not shielded me from the templars so I should show sympathy?” Morrigan asked with one eyebrow raised in disbelief. Surana’s expression didn’t change and in the face of it, Morrigan faltered. “My mother often says things are as they are because they could be no other way. I’ve often questioned this.” She crossed her arms and tossed her head, looking away, “Do what you wish, I care not.” 

Surana exhaled. “Thank you, Morrigan.”

“Petra, Kinnon, you stay here with the children.” 

“But Wynne, you were so badly wounded earlier. Perhaps I should come along.” Petra said, looking at her mentor with open worry. 

“I will be fine. The others need your protection more. Stay here with them, keep them safe and calm.” 

“Morrigan,” Surana turned. 

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. 

“I want you to stay here.” 

“Pardon? You wish _me_ to stay here and watch over . . . _children?_ ”

Surana shook her head. “No, but you’re arguably the strongest caster in this room. I want you to stay here and fry anything other than us that tries to come through once the barrier is down. Kinnon and Petra can protect the children.” 

Morrigan sighed. “Very well.” 

“Thank you.” 

The abominations in the Apprentice library did nothing to ease Surana’s fears. She inspected the body of a templar while Wynne was distracted and when it wasn’t Cullen, pushed forwards, through the library and up the the Mage’s quarters and the stock room on the second floor.

* * *

The stairs from the apprentice quarters opened immediately into the tranquil stock room. As Surana went to investigate, she was stopped by Owain, the tranquil, who was blissfully still alive. 

“Please refrain from going into the stockroom. It is a mess and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen.” 

Her youthful fear of the tranquil lingered, but Surana forced her mouth into a smile when she met Owain’s lifeless eyes. “Owain? Why are you still up here?” 

“I was trying to tidy up but there was little I could do.” 

“Why are you cleaning _now_?” Surana asked, momentarily forgetting that he was tranquil and therefore the logic of a normal man did not apply to him. Empty, peaceful shell that he was. 

“The stock room is my responsibility.” Owain said, predictably. “I tried to leave when things got quiet, that was when I encountered the barrier. Lacking alternatives, I returned to work.” 

“Owain,” Wynne sighed, “you should have said something, I would have let you in.” 

“The stockroom is familiar. I prefer to be here.” 

Surana shook her head, reminded again, as she had been regularly since her first trip to the stockroom nearly a decade before hand, that the Rite of Tranquility was a terrifying, terrifying thing. 

“I’m . . . glad you’re alright, Owain.” 

“I would prefer not to die. I would prefer it if the tower returned to the way it was. Perhaps Niall will succeed and save us all.” 

“Niall? What’s he trying to do?”

“You know him?” Leliana asked. 

“It wasn’t a _large_ tower.” 

“I do not know,” Owain continued, untroubled by the brief interruption, or indeed by anything, “he came with several others and took the Litany of Adralla.” 

“The Litany of Adralla?” Wynne repeated. “But that protects against mind domination. Is blood magic at work here?” 

“I do not know.” Owain droned. 

Wynne turned to look at Surana. “Niall was in the meeting. He would know. Blood magic . . . I was afraid of this.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” was Surana’s initial contribution. She curled her thin hands to fists and Stanton came up to press against her leg, comforting in his presence. “Blood magic. Fucking _Jowan_ couldn’t be. . . _fuck_.” She took a deep breath. “Now what?” 

“We should find Niall. The Litany will give us a fighting chance against any blood mages we encounter.” 

“I wish you luck.” Owain said. “Goodbye.” He turned and resumed cleaning the stockroom, unburdened by fear or anything beyond the most basic of self-preservation instinct. Dedicated solely to his task. 

They left Owain to his work and almost immediately stumbled upon a small trio of blood mages. “Stay back.” Alistair shouted. He darted forward and dropped an area cleanse, the aftershock hit Surana in the stomach, but it wasn’t as strong as some she’d felt. One of the mages went down and Alistair planted a sword in his stomach. Leliana loosed an arrow at a second and Stanton full tilt ran and caught the third in the chest, bearing her to the ground with a scream. 

“Stanton! Hold!” Surana shouted. 

The dog growled, his face an inch away from the hapless mage’s. 

“Neria what are you--”

Surana cut Alistair off, holding her hand up. “I want to know what’s going on and why.” She stomped towards the terrified woman, pinned beneath more than a hundred pounds of angry mabari. 

“Please,” the woman pleased, “please don’t kill me.” 

“I don’t think the people you killed wanted to die either.” Surana spat, surprising even herself with the venom in her tone.

“I know I have no right to ask for mercy. I never meant for all this death and destruction. We were only trying to free ourselves.” 

Surana set a hand on Stanton’s neck and he growled more softly. 

“Don’t you remember what it was like living here?” the mage pleaded. “I remember you. You were Breckan’s favorite bit of sport. Don’t you remember how heavy the templars eyes are? They’re watching, always watching.” 

Surana swallowed and nodded. “Yes. I . . . I hated it too.” 

“The magic was a means to an end. It gave us . . . gave _me_ the power to fight for what I believed in.” 

“Fighting for what you believe in is commendable.” Wynne snapped. “But the ends do not always justify the means.” 

“You don’t really believe that, do you Wynne?” The mage shook her head. “Andraste waged _war_ against the Imperium. She didn’t write them a strongly worded letter. She won, freed the slaves and gave us the Chantry, but people died for it. We thought . . . someone has to take the first step. Someone has to _force_ the change.” 

“Nothing is worth what you’ve done to this place!” Wynne argued. 

Surana, on the other hand, nodded. She sympathized, even as she hated herself for it. She could still feel eyes on the back of her neck, running down the length of her spine. A templar standing too close, breathing in the scent of her hair, whispered words. Never knowing how far would be too far. 

“And now Uldred’s gone mad. We’re scattered, doomed to die at the hands of those who seek to right our wrongs.” 

“And all you can do is wallow in your own, pathetic self-pity.” Surana growled.

“What else can I do, I’m trapped here?”

“I . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else I can do for you. You did this,” Surana gestured around at the destruction, “all of this.”

“Spare me.” The woman begged. “Let me live and I can seek penance at the chantry.” 

“Won’t work,” Alistair said, one hand still on his sword. “They’re very picky about who they take in. Harlots and murderers, sure. Maleficarum? Oh no.” 

“Your comments betray your ignorance, Alistair.” Leliana butted in. “The chantry takes in everyone, regardless of what they’ve done.” 

“Well, it seems you’re familiar with a very different chantry, Leliana. Because the one _I_ know would hesitate to shove a sword of mercy right through her heart.” 

“Alistair’s probably right.” Surana pinched the bridge of her nose, “but that. . . can’t be my call. Stanton, let her up.” 

“Thank you,” the mage breathed as Stanton dutifully stepped off her chest. “Maker turn his gaze on you for your mercy.” 

Surana tried to feel good about letting the woman live and leave, but only succeeded in convincing herself that she would have felt _worse_ about killing her. She pushed onto the next room without bothering to address any concerns about letting a known and confessed Maleficar live.

The word still felt dirty on the tip of her tongue.

* * *

Irving was not in his office. Surana hunted for clues about what had happened to the tower, and in doing so, stumbled upon his journal, and one of the more damning things she’d ever read.

> _I followed another apprentice through supposed secret maneuvers today, and exposed her tendency towards blood magic. The environment of the tower is such that certain modes of thought are encouraged, both for good and ill. The students think we toy with them. The truth is far more intricate and directed. Deviant traits must be exposed early, or the whole of the Circle suffers.  
>  Uldred has been very helpful in identifying the markers to look for. His skills at misdirection are admirable. I daresay that the apprentices would be shocked at his ability to manipulate them. I must organize a retreat such that the other enchanters can benefit from his skills.  
> \--Excerpt from the journal of First Enchanter Irving_

Surana’s hand shook and she crumpled the page up. They were set up to fail. Whether that was the intention or not, they were set up to fail. Jowan had spent time with Uldred and been manipulated, his “tendency” towards blood magic revealed and Uldred had gotten away with it because this was how the circle weeded out “weak” mages.

Uldred, now, revealed to be at the heart of a blood mage conspiracy, had twisted Jowan and then fed him to the templars. 

Surana felt like she was going to be sick. 

She tossed the page and in a fit of adolescent pique and rage stole the heavy black book from Uldred’s desk. She would learn all his secrets, she thought, tucking it away into her pack. And she would use them to burn the circles, all of them, down. 

“Neria.” 

“Nothing.” Surana snapped as Wynne called her name. “Let’s just move.”

* * *

To her own mortification, Surana realized as she stepped over the bodies, killing templars was easier than killing the blood mages. She knelt and pulled helmets off, praying quietly than none of the charmed, damned, men and women had been Cullen. 

“Why do you think it’s desire demons that have such a pull on Templars?” Leliana asked as Surana chuckled the last helmet at the ground, breathing a sigh of mortified relief and wiping her bloody hands on her robes. 

“In the circle and form of . . . fraternization . . .” Surana explained, leaning against a wall to catch her breath. “Is frowned upon. Between mages and mages, mages and templars, templars and templars, the lot of it.” 

“Who are you looking for?” Wynne asked, concern adding a hennish quality to her voice. 

“No one,” she lied on instinct. “Just seeing if I recognize anyone.” 

If Wynne didn’t believe her, the old woman at least had the courtesy not to mention it. 

Alistair’s hand curled around hers, briefly. The touch was grounding, something that didn’t happen in the tower, particularly not with a Senior Enchanter looking right at her. A little thing that brought her present into focus. She wasn’t just a circle mage any longer. She was a warden. Surana squeezed her fingers once around Alistair’s and let herself put some distance between herself and the crisis her tower was going through. 

This was not her home any longer. 

She could grieve later. Cullen, if he was still here, still alive, would be in the Templar Quarters, one floor up. Irving would be there too, or maybe the Harrowing chamber. 

They were almost done. 

Corruption oozed from the walls of the center room, thick purple pustules of almost flesh, filling the room with rank rust and decay. Surana paralyzed the abomination she believed responsible and threw up a blast of stunning telekinetic energy as she and Leliana were mobbed by walking skeletons. 

“Thank you,” said a tranquil, standing near the stairs. “That was an uncomfortable experience.” 

“And uncom--” Surana huffed. “Go downstairs. It should be safe now.” 

The Tranquil left obediently and Surana looked at the stairs that lead to the templar quarters. 

Almost there. 

“You’re bleeding.” She informed Alistair. She brushed her hand over the cut on his face. “There.” 

“Thank you.”

* * *

The corruption worsened as they ascended, growing more rank and foul with every step. It was a relief to shove open the door to the templar quarters where at least there was more room, more space between the fleshy lumps. 

“Everything is just as you wanted, my knight. Our love and our family is more than you hoped for.” A sultry warm voice stood out in sharp contrast to everything else, enough so that Surana was compelled to lower her staff a little as she peeked her head into the first room. 

A templar, she knew him as Drass, older fellow, kept to himself mostly, was staring at nothing while in front of him paced a desire demon, her skin translucent purple and bare. Surana caught herself eyeing the demon’s backside and corrected. 

“Hey!” She shouted. 

The demon turned in confusion. 

“Die, Demon!” 

“What was that?” Drass demanded. 

“Shit.”

“Heeeeelp,” the demon cried out pitifully, “there are bandits at the door, they’re going to murder the children!” 

“They will not get past me!” 

“Son of a--” Surana threw a lightning bolt as Drass’s head as Stanton charged the demon. 

With Drass and his demon dead in short order, Surana investigated the other rooms. It was almost a relief that Cullen wasn’t there, though the longer it took to find him, the worse off he probably was. She bit back on asking if Wynne had seen him. 

Surana’s distance from the circle was one thing, but if the circle survived this, Cullen would be a templar. She couldn’t endanger that. 

Alistair kicked open the door to the center room, where the stairs leading to the Harrowing chamber were. No sooner had the wood splintered than Surana felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over and through her. Her arms were heavy. Her legs were heavy. Her staff was heavy. 

“What?” 

Standing in the middle of the room was a demon, familiar, almost. 

“Oh look, visitors.” The demon said, its voice a lazy drawl. Surana thought about her Harrowing, the Sloth demon disguised as a bearskarn. 

She bit down a yawn. “Good. Then you’ll be easier to kill.” 

“But why, aren’t you tired of all the violence in this world? I know I am. Wouldn’t you rather lie down?” 

“Resist… you must..” Wynne yawned. 

“I can’t keep my eyes open, someone . . . pinch me.” Alistair started to slump. 

“Lay down,” the demon beckoned. “Rest.” 

Surana’s eyes felt heavy. She leaned her weight on her staff. 

“The world will go on without you.”


	3. Everything Fades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana and her companions are trapped by a Sloth demon in the Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes: Surana's dream is different because, while being a Grey Warden does become her identity, it's still too soon for the demon to have picked up on anything other than Cullen. This affects the other dreams, some more than others, as well. Also, I'm writing this as though the "Skip The Fade Puzzle" mod is just plain canon because I HATE that puzzle.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Cullen said. His hand was resting on her stomach while she was lying in bed, comfortable and warm. Surana opened an eye. Something was _off_ , she felt fuzzy. Heavy still. She rolled more to sitting, and Cullen, his tunic gleaming in the pale light from a window, moved his hand from her belly to her shoulder. 

“Was I asleep long?” She smoothed her hands over her face to try and tug herself more awake. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what he was doing there. Wasn’t he worried about being caught? There’d be hell if he were found in the mage quarters, not even wearing his armor and sitting on her bed. 

But they weren’t in the tower. The bedspread was wrong, light pooled from a window to illuminate a chess board. She could hear the ocean outside. 

“I thought you were going to sleep through the next age.” Cullen said with a low laugh. He leaned in once her hands moved and pressed his lips to hers. Surana’s eyes widened in surprise, but otherwise she was shocked to stillness until Cullen pulled away, the familiar victory smirk painting his mouth. “Dreaming about the tower again?” 

“I . . .” Surana shook her head, something was still wrong. “I must have been.” She leaned into him and kissed him back, almost an apology for having been so shocked. She reached back to comb her fingers through her hair before she found her brush and found that her hair was still in it’s tight, orderly braid. 

Surana’s expression darkened. 

Even one the rare occasions she slept in her braid, it never stayed orderly. 

Slowly, the faults in this place started to click back into place. She frowned and tried to remember what she had been doing before she’d gone to sleep. The blank space told her everything she needed to know.

“Neria?” 

Surana looked up at the shade wearing Cullen’s face and her heart broke. She fought to keep her smile, not wanting to betray what she knew. 

“I’m fine,” she insisted, shaking her head. She reached out to him and curled her hands around his cheeks. Cullen’s smile was warm and adoring, but the eyes were wrong. Hollow. Tranquil eyes. Surana’s fingers slid up into his hair. “I love you so much,” she promised, the words felt strange, secret. She had never thought to voice them, and of course, really she hadn’t. This was a demon. Cullen himself could never know. 

“I love you too.” 

Surana’s hands ignited with flame. She dug her nails into the shade’s scalp while it twisted, writhing and screaming as the disguise it wore melted and revealed it to be the lesser desire demon she had feared. But that demon too was caught in the flames and dissolved to ash. 

Surana bent in half and sobbed, great, wracking cries that hiccuped through her stomach and her limbs as the dream changed around her, no longer shaped by that demon, to become a flat, uninteresting landscape much like where she had had her Harrowing. 

She couldn’t stay here sobbing. 

She had to find the others. 

Still weeping, Surana picked herself up off the bed and found a pedestal, reminiscent of the one she’d touched the night of her Harrowing. She wiped the tears aside and placed her hand atop it.

* * *

She shimmered into existence in another place. Still the Fade, and mirroring a place that was not the tower. Surana frowned. It all felt uncomfortably like her Harrowing, the little pocket of the Fade that the circle kept to test its apprentices that didn’t mirror the tower. Perhaps, when not affected by demons, it mirrored the island _before_ the tower was built. She stood before a door, not the sort one finds outside of a house, but one that should lead to or from a bedroom. 

She could hear laughter from the other side. 

Surana wiped her eyes, knowing that she couldn’t do anything to dull the redness in her cheeks or the moistness in her eyes. She was still crying, small, hiccuping sobs that she struggled to stifled by pulling her lips to a thin line and biting them as she pushed the door open. 

Alistair sat in a wooden chair across from a smiling woman. He had a cup in one hand and a child tugging on his arm. 

“Uncle! Uncle! Come and play!” The child, another demon, pleaded. 

“Leave your uncle alone,” the woman swatted the child playfully, “there’ll be time to play after supper.” 

Alistair looked up and his smile grew when he saw Surana. “Neria! Hey! I was just thinking about you, what a strange coincidence.” He stood, a child immediately rushing over and wrapping itself around one of his legs when he did. “This is my sister, Goldanna, and these are her children. There’re more about somewhere, we’re one big happy family at long last.” 

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Surana said weakly. “You never mentioned her.” She reached up to try and deaden the stream of tears still dripping out of her eyes. “You seem . . . content.” 

“I am.” He reached for her cheek, smile starting to fade away as he noticed that she was crying. “Are you alr--”

Surana, still fragile from her ordeal, swallowed, shook her head and affected a poor smile. “I’ve never seen you so happy.” 

“I’ve never been happier in my entire life, I thought being a Grey Warden would make me happy, but it didn’t. This does.” 

And suddenly _she_ was going to be the monster.

“I’m overjoyed to have my little brother back.” “Goldana” stood and curled her hand around Alistair’s wrist, protective, possessive, she lowered it away from Surana’s cheeks. “I’ll never let him out of my sight again.”

“I . . .” Surana squeezed her eyes closed, tears leaking past her lids. She took a breath. “Can I borrow you, Alistair? Just for a moment?” 

“I don’t. . . dinner will be ready in just a moment. Goldanna's made her mince pie.” 

“Is your friend staying for dinner?” “Goldanna” asked, her smile was sweet but her eyes were empty the way Cullen’s had been. 

“You will, won’t you?”

Surana shook her head. “Alistair, please. Please I just. . .” 

He pulled away from his sister and curled one hand around her cheek. Surana covered his hand with her own. “Please, Alistair. Can we go?” 

“Alistair, come have some tea.” 

“Of course,” Alistair’s thumb moved under her eye to wipe the tears away. “Why are you crying?”

“I’ll tell you as we walk,” Surana promised. 

“No!” “Goldana” barked, her voice deepening and changing to that of a demon. “He is _ours_ and I would rather see him dead that free.” 

The children, now revealing themselves to be demons, leapt for Alistair. He dropped an area cleanse shaking the Fade and giving Surana the chance to throw fire at the demons. Unarmed, Alistair was a trained combatant. He threw fists and elbows, snapping dried bone with no more difficulty than he would a sapling and eventually they were the only people standing. 

“This is the Fade? A dream?” Alistair stared at the body of his “sister” and caught his breath. “It feels so _real_.” He shook his head in disbelief. “How didn’t I see this earlier.”

“It’s the Fade, it’s not like the waking world,” she assured him. 

Alistair’s fingers brushed against her cheek. “Try not to tell everyone how easily fooled wa--Neria? Where are you going?” 

His fingers felt less and less real against her skin. She reached to grab him but her fingers slipped through the front of his tunic. 

“Alistair?!”

“What’s happening to me? _Hey_.”

And she was alone. Surana took a deep breath. He couldn’t have gone far, nevermind that the Fade was literally limitless, this pocket of it seemed . . . less so. She walked back to the Fade pedestal and placed her hand upon it.

* * *

Yet more Fade. 

Presently, however. It looked like a chantry. 

Surana could hear someone praying. _Leliana_.

She followed the voice until she came to a small room with an altar, a proud looking revered mother and Leliana, kneeling and rocking with her hands clasped together in fervent prayer. 

“Thank the Maker you’re safe.” Surana exhaled. “Or, comparatively safe, anyway.” 

“Blessed a--” Leliana looked up, no recognition in her eyes. “Who are you?”

“I must ask you not to interrupt the girl’s mediations.” The revered mother croaked. 

Leliana turned to her, “Revered Mother, I do not know this person.” 

“We’re friends, Leliana, don’t you remember?” Surana tried. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leliana apologized and shook her head. “I’ve never seen you before.” 

“For the love of--”

“Please do not vex her,” the revered mother, probably a demon, insisted. “She needs quiet and solitude to calm her mind and heal her heart.” 

Surana ignored the old woman. “Please, Leliana. Listen to me. This isn’t real.” 

“Isn’t real? I don’t understand.” Leliana stood up from where she was kneeling. 

“Please trust me when I say that. None of this is real. It’s a trick of the Fade. A very, _very_ dangerous dream.”

“There is . . . something familiar about you.” Leliana started to ring her hands together in front of herself, “and I find myself wanting to trust you, as odd as that may sound.” 

“Not odd at all. We’re friends.” 

“Stay,” the demon said, “stay and know peace.” 

“There is no need,” Leliana’s smile was wide and fond, “I carry the peace of the Chantry in my heart.” 

“Thank Andr--”

“You are going nowhere, girl!” The demon spat, reaching out and grabbing Leliana’s arm. “I will not permit it.” 

Lighting sprang from Surana’s fingers and lanced through the demon's torso. “We’re leaving. Regardless of what you _permit_.”

“No! She is Ours! Now And Forever.” The demon, a shade, shed it’s disguise and threw Leliana to the ground. Surana blasted it again, and a third time, and it dissolved into dust. 

“Holy Maker! She . . . she was a . . .” 

“Demon. Yes.” Surana shook her hands out to dull the buzzing sensation. “Hold it together, we still need to get out of here.” 

“Ugh.” Leliana groaned, “my head feels heavy, like I just woke up from the most terrible nightmare.” 

“You did, sorta,” Surana shrugged, trying very hard to hold herself together. 

“I believe we had . . . some task to accomplish? Let us be on our way before--what’s happening?!” 

Just as Alistair had, Leliana started to shimmer and disappear. Surana’s hand slipped through hers as they reached for one another. Surana closed her eyes huffed in desperation and annoyance, and stormed back to the fade pedestal that had brought her there.

* * *

This time, the Fade was raw and unformed, truer to what she had seen during her Harrowing. Surana tensed for the inevitable fight, but found none. Instead she found Stanton, curled up. 

Panicked, Surana darted over to him, and saw that he was breathing. He was only asleep. She allowed herself a small smile and reached out to stroke him. 

“Stanton.” 

He opened one eye and perked up one ear with a questioning whine. 

“It’s time to go.” 

Stanton chuffed and stretched before standing, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He started to shimmer and drift away, just as the others had. He whined and pawed for her. 

“I’ll find you again,” she promised. “Stay alert!” 

Stanton barked his acknowledgement and Surana walked back to the pedestal, her shoulders back and her chin up. If the pattern continued, she needed only to find Wynne next. Then, perhaps, the demon would reveal himself.

* * *

Here, at least, the Fade resembled the tower. The Library, in fact. Surana would have taken comfort in the familiar surroundings had she been less alert. She rounded a section of shelves and found Wynne, blood soaked and surrounded by the bodies of apprentices. 

“Maker forgive me,” Wynne whispered, “I failed them all. They died, and I could not stop it.”

“They’re not dead yet,” Surana urged, stepping more fully into view as Wynne turned. “The circle can still be saved.” 

“How can you say that?” Wynne demanded, the wrinkles in her brow deepening. “How can you say that when faced with this? Can’t you see it? Can’t you _feel_ it? Death is all around us.” 

“This is the Fade.” Surana explained, the hope that perhaps a _Senior Enchanter_ would have noticed for herself starting to fade. “It’s not real.” 

“Why was I spared if not to save them?” Wynne dropped her gaze to look at the bodies. “What use is my life now that I’ve failed?”

“Wynne. . .” Surana felt anger start to flare up in the pit of her chest. She understood, of course, that the nightmare had Wynne. That to the old woman all of this was more real than Surana was. 

But _Andraste’s Ass_ Wynne was a Senior Enchanter. She had passed her Harrowing. She should be able to shake herself out of a Fade-dream. 

“I’m finding it rather difficult to find sympathy for the _demons_ playing _possum_ around your feet!” Surana snapped, hoping the emphasis might shake Wynne out of her despondency. 

“Your blatant disregard for the souls of the dead strikes me as utterly inappropriate.” Wynne turned and snapped at her.

Surana raised her chin like a challenge. “And I’ve never heard of you falling apart so damned easily.” 

Wynne opened her mouth to retort but Surana cut her off with a quick, silencing flick of her wrist. “ _Think_ , Wynne. What are you doing here and why?”

She couldn’t believe she had to walk a blighted _Senior Enchanter_ through this. 

“Why do you _insist_ on making this more painful? And where were you when this happened? I trusted you as an ally and you were nowhere to be found.” 

“That’s because I’m the only thing that’s real.” Surana brought her hands up. “Just. . . focus on me. Block out the rest of it. Please, Wynne.” 

“I do not know what this will accomplish, but if it will satisfy you, I will try.” Wynne closed her eyes and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her frown deepened, but it was no longer the drawn, mournful expression of a grief stricken old woman. “I . . . it’s hard to focus. I’ve never had so much . . . trouble before. It’s as though something is blocking me.” She lowered her hand and wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps some time away from this place will help me think more clearly.”

“That’s a brilliant idea.” Surana agreed. “Let’s go.” 

“No! Don’t leave us, Wynne!” One of the dead apprentices stood up. 

“Holy Make--”

“Andraste’s tit--”

The two mages interrupted each other with their swears and dropped their weight, ready for a fight. 

“Stay, Wynne.” The dead apprentice pleaded. “Stay with us. Join us in the warm embrace of the earth.” 

“Creepy,” muttered Surana. 

“No. . . I can’t.” Wynne shook her head. “It’s not time yet. My task, there’s work to be done.” 

“Come, come away with u--” 

Surana cut him off with a blast of arcane energy to his chest. The interruption was enough to startle Wynne into reacting and between them, a pair of angry, desperate mages, the demons were defeated. 

“Is it over?” Wynne asked. 

Surana nodded. 

“Thank the Maker for you--wait, where are you going.” 

“Find the others!” Surana shouted. “We should all be awake now. We can get out!” She ran for the pedestal and grabbed it, quite ready to be done with this place.

* * *

The malaise that hung over the Fade was stronger here. Surana conjured fire in her fingertips and marched towards its center to deal with the demon that had caught her and her companions in its web. 

She found it, tall and almost human save for the way it’s hands ended in sharp talons and its mouth lacked lips, the desiccated skin pulled taut to end in sharp yellowed teeth. “What’s this?” It said in a lazy, familiar voice. “An escaped minion? A rebellious slave?” It chuckled, the sound not unlike a rock rolling down a hill. “You’ve had your fun, but playtime is over and you all have to go back now.” 

Before she could ask what he meant by _all_ , Surana heard Alistair behind her. “Maker! You just _vanished_. No matter, we’re together now.” 

“You lead us apart because you fear our strength when we’re together.” Leliana’s voice joined Alistair’s. 

“You will not keep us, demon!” Wynne, and the sound of comforting lightening crackling in another mage’s fingertips, brought a smile to Surana’s face. 

Stanton, the practical sort, growled and charged the demon. It teleported out of harms way. 

“If you go back quietly, I’ll do better this time. I’ll make you much happier.” 

“I’d rather make my own happiness.” Surana gritted, her every muscle tense. She threw a cone of fire at the demon. He dodged, but he dodged closer to Alistair and Leliana. 

“Can’t you think about someone other than yourself? I’m hurt,” the demon lamented. “So very, very hurt.” 

“Somehow,” Surana clenched her fist, drawing in the energy she needed. “I’m okay with that.” 

“You will learn to bow to your betters, Mortal!” The demon growled. 

“I doubt that. _Now_!” 

Alistair dropped an area cleanse and the fade rocked. Leliana, being not a mage, seized the opportunity and leapt, her arms going around the demon’s neck to crack it while Surana paralyzed it, hoping to hold off its assault a moment longer. Wynne summoned a fist of stone that slammed into the demon’s chest and Stanton was all teeth and claw. 

The demon flung Leliana off. She collided hard with a pillar of stone but the demon’s neck was broken, twisted. A minor inconvenience for a greater sloth demon, perhaps, but it was _enough_ that the combined attacks of the other four brought the beast down. 

“I never expected . . . I never thought you would free yourself, that you would free us all.” 

Surana turned to look at the shade speaking. A mage in his mid-twenties. She knew him from the library and from a few assignments she’d asked him for help with. A kind man, gentle. An isolationist like Rupert had been. 

“Niall?” 

He nodded. “The Sloth demon used my life force to . . . fuel . . . this nightmare. As he planned to use all of yours. When you return. . . take the Litany of Adralla from my . . . body.” He swallowed. “It will protect you from the worst of the blood magic.” 

“Your body? Niall, we can _all_ get out of here.” 

He shook his head sadly. “I’ve been here far too long,” he explained. “For you it will have been an afternoon’s naps. Your body won’t have wasted away in the real world while your spirit lay in the hands of a demon.” 

“I’m sorry, Niall.” 

“I’m not afraid. They say we return to the Maker in death. That’s . . . not so terrible. I was never meant to save the Circle, or even to survive it’s troubles, but you can.” He forced a small, weak lifting of the corners of his mouth that Surana could not in good conscience even think of as a smile. “Take the Litany off my body. It’s important.” 

“I will. Rest at the Maker’s side, Niall.” 

“I will. I hope.”


	4. Home is Where The Heart Is And Both Of Mine Are Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana reunites, in a matter of speaking, with Cullen and gives Uldred the thrashing he so deserves.

Surana opened her eyes. She felt rested, better than she should have, all things considered. Niall had said it would be like an afternoon nap, he wasn’t wrong. She was brusied from the fighting, but that would fade. 

Fade. 

Surana forced a very small smile at the pun to keep from weeping again. 

“Everyone awake?” She asked as she started to pick herself up. There was a general murmur of confirmation and a whine from Stanton. “Good.” She touched her cheeks and felt the moisture on them. They stung in the open air. She bent over Niall’s body and took the Litany from his robes before closing his eyes and engulfing his body in flames. 

She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to look at her companions. 

“You were crying,” Leliana said immediately. “What did you dream about?”

“I . . . nothing.” Surana shook her head. “Later. We really don’t have time.” She swallowed. “I don’t . . . I don’t know how long we were out.” 

“She’s right,” Alistair said. He gave her a glance and she could remember his hand on her cheek. Soft and comforting. She wanted to lean into him now. Let him gather up the pieces of her broken heart and hold them while the companionship of the others gave her a moment to stitch them back together. 

There wasn’t time, of course. There might never be time. 

“Let’s go.” She reached up to her braid, the loops in place but hair fraying from where she had slept on it. This was real. They had little time.

* * *

Hope dwindled the further into the templar quarters they went. She checked every room under the guise of dutifully hunting for Irving. But she knew where Irving was, Irving would be in the Harrowing chamber. Irving was not why she checked the faces of the dead templars. 

At least up here there were fewer in helmets. Most were scattered, their bodies broken and bleeding about their bed chambers. 

_I love you, Neria_ the demon had whispered with Cullen’s voice. 

_I love you too_. 

She pushed open the door to the stairs and her staff clattered out of her hands. A single templar, bound in a small magic cage, the broken armor and bodies of other templars around him, cut open, some half-transformed. The lone survivor rocked on his knees, kneeling and bent in prayer, his lips moving fervently. 

His blond curls tacky and rust colored with blood. 

“ _Cullen!_ ” 

He didn’t look up. Surana grabbed her staff as she bolted towards him, hearing Alistair’s armor close behind her. “Maker, _Cullen!_ ”

“This trick again?” He muttered, eyes staying closed. “I know what you are. It won’t work. I will stay strong.” 

A moment ago, Surana would have identified her heart as being broken. If that was broken, this was shattered. “Cullen? Don’t you recognize me?” She dropped to kneeling, one hand resting on the wall of his cage. 

Cullen’s eyes opened. He met her gaze, his brown eyes sharp and damning, they softened and dropped aside. “Only too well . . .” His voice cracked, eyes dropping with shame. “How far must they have delved into my thoughts? _Enough_.”

“Cull--”

“If _anything_ in you is good, kill me now and stop this game!”

Surana shook her head. “No, Cullen. Cullen, Cullen. You’re delirious, they’ve hurt you. You’re probably--I have--Alistair, hand me the water ski--”

“Don’t Touch Me!” Cullen roared, his eyes opening, murder and madness blazing in them. He was unarmed, but he swung at her regardless. Alistair’s shield dropped in front of her face, temporarily blocking Cullen from view as Alistair’s other hand curled around Surana’s bicep and tugged her back to safety. Behind her, Stanton growled. 

Cullen’s fist had collided with the barrier in any case. 

“Stay away!” 

She could see tears at the corners of his eyes. _Shattered_? No, her heart was a fine powder, finer than a lyrium fuse. “I--”

“Sifting through my thoughts! Tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have. Using my shame against me. My ill advised . . . infatuation with her. A mage of all things.” His head dropped and his arms fell to his sides. “I’m so tired of these cruel jokes. These . . . tricks.” 

He loved her. 

Surana took a breath. “Cullen, this isn’t a trick. We’re here to help.” She took a step towards him, Alistair’s hand stayed on her bicep, protective, grounding, but he didn’t hold her back. 

“Silence. I’ll not listen to anything you say.” Cullen swallowed. He clenched his hands back in prayer. “Begone.” 

“I’m not a figment.”

“But that . . . that’s always worked before. I close my eyes but you’re . . . you’re still there.”

Surana tried to offer him a smile, almost teasing but mostly just sad. “Makes you wish you hadn’t said those things, doesn’t it?”

“I am beyond caring what you think.” Cullen pulled himself to standing at last, apparently accepting that this was real. 

“The Maker knows my sin, and I pray that he will forgive me.”   
“Why does it . . . hurt you so much? There’s nothing wrong with. . . liking. . . someone.” 

“You are a mage and I am a templar. It is my duty to oppose you and all you are! It was the foolish fancy of a naive boy.” Cullen straightened. “I know better now.” 

“...ah.” 

“Why are you here? How did you . . . how did you survive?” 

“This was my home.”

“As it was mine. And look what they’ve done to it. They deserve to die. Uldred most of all. Kill him. Kill them all for what they’ve done. They caged us like animals, looked for ways to break us.” Cullen dropped his shoulders. “I’m the only one left. There was . . . nothing I could do.”

“You must stay strong.” She started to reach for him and then recoiled. 

“And to think I once thought we were too hard on you.” He scoffed. 

“We’re not . . . we’re not all evil, Cullen.” She wasn’t sure why she was pleading. There was hate in his eyes, a thick, suffocating miasma of it. She was certain that without the barrier Cullen would have struck her down in a heart beat. 

_She looped the ribbon discreetly between his fingers and scampered, hoping no one would notice. He caught her. Saved her life. He cared._

“Only mages have this much power at their fingertips!” Cullen roared. “Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons.” 

“This is a conversation for another time.” Wynne interrupted them and Surana was grateful and embarrassed all at once as the older woman took control of the conversation. “Irving and the others who fought Uldred, where are they?” 

“The Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming from there . . . oh Maker.” 

“We’ve got to hurry.” Wynne turned to Surana.”Uldred and the others are in grave peril, I’m sure of it.” 

“You can’t save them!” Cullen’s fists collided with the barrier. He was weeping openly. “You don’t know what they’ve become.” 

“I’m a mage too, Cullen,” Surana said quietly. “I won’t abandon them while there’s a chance.” 

“You weren’t up there with them!” 

She wanted to be comforted by the panic in his eyes, but she wasn’t. 

“They’ve been surrounded b-by blood mages whose wicked magic snakes into your thoughts and corrupts them and--”

“His hatred of mages is so intense,” Alistair’s hand dropped from Surana’s bicep. “The memory of his friends’ deaths are still too fresh in his memory.” 

“You have to end it now! Before it’s too late.” 

“I will save everyone who can be saved, Cullen.” 

“Are you saving _anyone_ by taking this risk?” Cullen demanded. “To ensure that this horror is ended . . . to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages still live you must kill _everyone_ up there.” 

“I would rather spare a maleficar than kill an innocent.” She snapped at him. _Maleficar_ the word exploded off her tongue, a child swearing in earnest for the first time. 

“Do you even _know_ the danger!”

“Killing innocents because they might be maleficarum isn’t justice,” Wynne tried to soothe, “I know you’re angr--”

“You know nothing!” Cullen barked at her. “I am thinking about the future of the Circle! Of Ferelden.” 

“I will not have innocent blood on my hands.” Surana told him. 

“What can I do?” Cullen growled at her. “I’m in no position to stop you. Though I would _gladly_ deal with the mages myself.” 

“Is there anyway to get you out of there?” Surana asked. 

“Are you _insa--_ ” 

Surana cut Alistair off with a small shake of her head. 

“Don’t waste time on me. Deal with Uldred. Once he is dead, I will be free.” Cullen dropped his eyes from hers. 

“I will,” the words were little more than a whisper. “S-stay safe.” 

His right hand moved automatically to his left gauntlet. Tied to one of the small leather straps of his vambrace, where it could be tucked away in an instant, was a small blue ribbon. 

Surana bit her lip hard enough to draw blood and turned her attention to the stairs and the task at hand.

* * *

The sounds coming from the Harrowing chamber were, indeed, horrifying. Surana blasted the door open in time to watch as Uldred, with two abominations flanking him, grabbed an apprentice by the jaw. The man was one of several, weak and bloodied, his hands bound above him to an invisible force that left him dangling like a slab on a meat hook. 

“Do you accept the gift I offer?” Uldred asked. The apprentice nodded weakly and Uldred snapped his fingers. The apprentice hit the floor and with a scream and the sound of tearing flesh arose an abomination. 

Irving was in a corner, his eyes blackened and his nose broken. 

Surana fixed a hateful gaze on Uldred as he turned to address her. 

“Ah, I remember you, Irving’s star pupil. Uldred didn’t think much of you then, and I certainly don’t see your appeal now.” 

Surana shot a lightning bolt past Uldred’s ear, frying the abomination at his side, rather than answering. 

“Fight if you must.” Uldred sneered. “It will just make my victory all the sweeter.”

“The Litany,” Wynne reminded in a hushed tone. Surana nodded and fished it from her robe. As Uldred began to shift and change into a pride demon. 

“Again so soon, Mouse?” Surana growled. “Uldred’s not as scary as the bear.” 

The demon roared at her. 

Leliana provided covering fire while Alistair, in full plate demanded Uldred’s attention with hacking blows, blocking the brunt of the demon’s attacks with his shield. Wynne focused her efforts on keeping Alistair alive. 

And Surana began to chant. She had a voice suited for song, strong and rich and she could read while she ran, kiting in circles as she repeated the litany over and over, thwarted Uldred’s attempts to weasel his way into the minds of the other mages. 

When he fell, it was with Alistair’s sword buried in his thick neck. Surana dropped the litany and her staff and darted over to Irving. She pulled the old man to his feet and her hands, glowing soft green, eased the bruising around his eyes and mended his nose. 

He gave her a weary smile. “Maker, I’m too old for this.” 

Surana actually laughed at that, the sound high and broken she let Wynne take Irving’s weight, amused to see her clucking like a hen over someone else and turned her attention to Alistair’s injuries as Wynne and Irving talked. Surana’s fingers lingered on Alistair’s cheeks a moment longer than they needed too. 

“Thank you,” she mouthed to him. 

Alistair smiled in return. 

“I was surprised to see you again, Neria.” Irving called her attention back. “But I’m glad you’ve returned.” 

Surana shifted her weight. 

“The Circle owes you a debt we may never be able to repay.” He sighed. “Come, the templars await. We shall let them know that the tower is ours once again.” 

Surana nodded. “Greagoir was worried about you.” 

A small, warm smile crinkled the corners of Irving’s eyes. “Was he now? Not that I think he’d admit it.” 

“Probably not.” 

“I’ll need help down the stars,” Irving grumbled. “Maker curse the idiot who decided the circle should be housed in a tower.” 

Relief allowed Surana to forget what waited downstairs for a moment. But when her hand touched the door that lead back to the templar quarters, she remembered. 

“Cullen.” She mumbled weakly. “I don’t know . . . he’s. . .”

“Alistair and I will go first, and take Cullen to the main floor, yes?” Leliana offered. “That way he can--”

“So he won’t stab Irving or I on the way down.” Surana finished for her. Heartbreak made her uncharitable. “Yes.”


	5. A victory, except where it isn't.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana resolves the aftermath of the tower and secures Irving's assistance with the Blight.

Cullen had shrugged off the healers and was arguing with Greagoir, though it seemed he could barely hold himself up, when Surana and Wynne brought Irving downstairs. Morrigan walked behind them, annoyed, but not unusually so. 

Alistair, Leliana and Sten were clustered together, their attention lifting as one as the doors opened. 

“Irving!” Greagoir interrupted _himself_ instead of someone else for once. “Maker’s breath! I didn’t expect to see you alive again.” 

Irving gave the Knight-Commander a smile. “It’s done. The Circle is ours again.” 

“What? Uldred and the maleficarum tortured these mages, trying to break their will. We don’t know how many have turned!” Cullen almost teetered over and Surana had to stop herself from rushing over to catch him. Instead, she clenched her hand into a fist and took the comfort offered when Leliana and Alistair both rested their hands on her shoulders and Stanton shoved his head under her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Irving snapped. 

“Of course he’d say that! He might be a blood ma--”

“Enough!” Greagoir cut Cullen off. “I am Knight-Commander here. Not you.” 

“I think order’s been restored,” Surana volunteered. She couldn’t look at Cullen, but she could feel the heat of his anger directed at her. 

“I will accept Irving’s assurance that all is well,” Greagoir said. “Thank yo--”

“But they could have demons inside them!” Cullen tried one last time. “Lying dormant! Lying in wait!” 

“Enough, Rutherford. I’ve made my decision.” 

“But--”

“Thank you, Neria.” Greagoir turned his back on Cullen to impress upon the younger templar that he was no longer involved in this conversation. “You have proven yourself a friend to both the Circle and the templars.” 

“We need aid against the Darkspawn,” Alistair said.

The reminder of _why_ they were there hit Surana like a bucket of cold water. They were Grey Wardens. She was a Grey Warden. 

The tower wasn’t home any longer. She risked a glance at Cullen, and was oddly grateful for that. 

“With the circle restored,” Greagoir said, “our duty is to watch the mages. They are free to help you, however.” He looked over at Irving. Surana remembered their fight when Duncan had first arrived and, while the treaties bound Irving to help the Wardens, it felt like a concession on Greagoir’s part. A gift, almost. 

“Now, I must oversee a sweep of the tower. There may be more survivors and we should tend to them.” Greagoir paused half-way through turning to head for the door. “Irving?”

“Mm?” 

“It’s . . . good to have you back.” 

Irving chuckled. “Ah. I’m sure we’ll be at each other’s throats again in no time.” 

Both he and Greagoir shook their heads and Irving turned his attention down to Surana as Irving took a contingent of Templars into the tower. “The tower in disarray, the circle almost eliminated and it could have been much, much worse.” Irving shook his head and sighed. “I’m grateful you arrived when you did. It’s almost as though the Maker Himself sent you.” 

“I’m just glad I got here in time to help,” Surana breathed. “We need the Circle’s help against the Blight.” 

“We will aid you against the darkspawn. I would hate to survive this only to be overcome by the Blight.” 

“What about the Tower?”

“If the Blight spreads, the tower will be lost. Stopping the Blight is more important. You have my word as First Enchanter that the Circle will aid the Grey Wardens against the Blight.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ve come so far, my dear girl.” Irving’s smile softened. “I’m very proud of you.”

Surana reached up to the bumps of her braid and ran her hands through it. “It was . . . this was my home,” was the best that she could manage. 

“Irving.” Wynne said, “If I may have a word?” 

“Of course.” 

The old enchanters walked off and Surana leaned against a wall, exhausted and miserable as she watched the healers guide Cullen back to the makeshift infirmary set up in the corner. He caught eyes with her one last time and the hate wasn’t gone. 

Surana fought the tears down. 

“That is him, no?” Leliana asked in her ear. 

Surana nodded once, very slightly and gave Stanton’s ears a scratch. He gave an affectionate whine and butted her chest with his massive head. She turned and took Stanton’s face in her hands, bending slightly to press her face to his. Stanton’s huge tongue licked her cheeks and he gave a very soft bark, the small stub of his tail wagging frantically. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I will be.” Surana breathed, she straightened and wiped Stanton’s kisses from her cheeks. “Eventually, anyway.” 

“I am sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Surana sighed. “Not like it would have worked out any differently in the long run.” She shook her head to stop Leliana from asking another question, silently promising to explain _later_ when they were no longer in the tower. 

Wynne approached them and told Surana that Irving had given her permission to leave the tower to assist the Wardens. Surana smiled, still feeling a little numb, and welcomed her assistance. 

“Will we be staying here, tonight?” Wynne asked. 

Surana shook her head. “I’ll get us rooms at the Inn. If you’d prefer, you can just meet us there in the morning, we’ll be leaving early.”

“Yes.” Wynne nodded. “I will.” 

The doors closed behind Surana with a resounding finality. She ignored Carroll’s jibes as they took the ferry back across Lake Calenhad, focusing instead on her reflection in the dark water the boat glided over. She was determined not to look back as they stepped onto the dock, but she turned instead and let her eyes drift up the dark stone to the tip of the tower with a sense of empty longing to have everything back the way it had been. 

She breathed in the humid lake-side air and the smoke from The Spoiled Princess’s fire place and tried to remind herself that this was freedom and that this was what she’d wanted. In the morning it would be easier. 

“You’re shaking.” Alistair’s hand found hers and Surana squeezed it just once. “You alright?” 

“I’ll be fine.” She wondered how often she would have to repeat it before it was either true or everyone would stop asking. “I just want dinner.” 

“Not the stew?” Leliana asked hopefully, accepting the subject change with grace from where she was pushing open the door. 

“I should hope not.” Morrigan made a face. 

“You two can have whatever you want,” Surana settled into a table. “ _I_ am having the stew.”

* * *

Surana was pulling things out of her pack when she remembered the book she had stolen from Irving’s desk in her rage. The righteous anger at what had been done to Jowan bubbled up in her chest with all the other uncomfortable feelings. 

The book was old but well cared for. The leather cover embossed with a stylized, leafless tree. Surana walked downstairs with it, thinking of the best way to irritate Irving, though really the First Enchanter would never know about it. She glanced at Morrigan, peeling an apple with a knife and glaring at Stanton, and decided. 

“Morrigan?” 

“Mm?”

“I got you something.” Surana extended the book to her companion and, to her surprise, Morrigan’s eyes went wide. 

“You found Flemeth’s Grimoire?” 

Surana looked down at the book. “Uh . . . yes? Apparently?”

Morrigan took the book and ran her fingers over the leather, an honest smile warming over her features and brightening her cold gold eyes. “Ever since we discovered the condition of the tower I’d _wondered_ if it might be recoverable, but I had yet to mention it to you.” She looked up from the book. “How fortunate that you found it on your own. You have my thanks, I will begin study of the tome immediately.” 

“You’re . . . welcome, then.” Surana ran her hand over her braid.   
“I do not intend to squander this opportunity to learn more than Flemeth wished me to know.” Morrigan’s smile turned wicked. “This should be . . . interesting.” 

“I’m happy to have helped.” 

Morrigan immediately flipped open the book and began to devour its secrets with a feroicity that made Surana miss the Circle Library more than ever. It was lucky, she supposed, that the book she had happened to steal from Irving’s desk was the book Morrigan had most wanted. 

The thought that she was _lucky_ drained the last of Surana’s will. She didn’t feel lucky. She felt small and brittle, her heart felt like a fine powder and she could feel the weight of everything on her shoulders. The last flicker of hope that maybe, someday, things could have worked out for her and Cullen, was extinguished and it left her feeling strangely cold. 

“On . . . second thought.” Surana told her companions. “I’m tired, I think I’ll skip dinner.” She paid for two rooms, one for Sten and Alistair and one for her, Leliana and Morrigan, and went upstairs.

* * *

Surana curled up on the small bed in the room she shared with Leliana and Stanton, Morrigan having elected to sleep outside rather than share a room with the dog, though her expression when directed at Surana had been warm, almost fond even. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Leliana asked, she set her hand on Surana’s knee, shifted so she could sit without disturbing Stanton. 

Surana started to shake her head and instead just turned her face into her pillow and muffled a frustrated scream into the fabric. She took a breath and rolled to her back to look up at Leliana. “I shouldn’t be letting it get to me.” 

“Your heart is broken, I don’t think anyone handles that well.” 

“Yes, but it . . . _shouldn’t_ be.” 

Stanton snorted and set his head back on Surana’s knees. 

“There’s . . . the templar-mage . . . fraternization can’t work. Ever.” Surana sighed. “Even without the rules against it, there’s just. . .there’s an inherent power difference _and_ the fact that a templar’s job boils down to killing mages and I just, I’m so . . . he hated me.” Surana squeezed her eyes closed. “More than anything else, he was. . . my friend. We’re not . . . making _friends_ in the tower is frowned on as it is. But Cullen and I . . . we tried. We managed. And now. . . fuck me I can’t even . . . I shouldn’t be mad about it. He was confined and tortured and I just. . .” Surana took a breath to calm herself. “I’ll feel better on the road to Redcliffe.” 

Leliana reached over and ran her fingers through Surana’s long, scarlet hair and smiled. “I think Alistair has taken a fondness to you.” 

Surana gave Leliana a confused look, trying to figure out what her friendship with Alistair had to do with the price of Antivan silks for all that that seemed relevant. She looked away. 

“And you seem rather fond of him.” 

Surana shrugged, her heart to heavy to let Leliana lift or distract it with thoughts of people who weren’t Cullen. 

“Just something to think about.” 

“Thank . . .thanks, Leliana.” Surana managed a small smile at the thought that the _Chantry Sister_ was suggested rebound sex. It was a sweet absurdity and Surana rolled again, dislodging (though not for long) Stanton. 

Leliana curled up on the bed beside her, combing her fingers through Surana’s hair. “It will be better in the morning.” 

“Yes.”


End file.
